Outside whitewashed, pretty as it pleases
Inside imagination hides from the fear and pain
But death never comes to those who pray
Living grows you old
No escaping as a young
Freedom only comes to the elder and not in mind
Devastation is here like a child playing hide and seek with a vicious animal
There are smiles outside, the pillars holding up the heaviness in the mind
Inside see the wreckage of a small soul
Innocence is a bloom that withers in darkness